The Tastiest One
by sonoralie
Summary: Answer to the challenge 'Sam andor Dean get day jobs'. Dean knows what his strengths are, and he's pretty sure they don't include dressing up like a stick of processed meat.


The Tastiest One

by decembrist

Rated T for swearing. I just cannot keep Dean's language clean.

Summary: Answer to the challenge _'Sam and/or Dean get day jobs'_. Dean knows what his strengths are, and he's pretty sure they don't include dressing up like a stick of processed meat.

So, I don't know if this qualifies because technically its a pre-day job scenario, but it was the best I could come up with. It's short, completely ludicrous and Sam may be a smidge OOC (what with the lightheartedness and all). Inspired by Jensen Ackles' hilarious short 'The Plight of Clownana'.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Dean, come on. You said you'd do it. You can't back out on me now." Sam glanced at the dark shape of his brother's sprawled form on the other motel bed. He rolled over to the edge of his own bed, trying to get closer to the open window in hopes of catching a cross-breeze. It was just their luck that they'd get stuck in a motel room with broken air-conditioning on the hottest day of the year so far.

"No..._you_ said you'd do it. I'm pretty sure what I said was something along the lines of 'no way in hell'. Are you remembering this?" Even though his little brother couldn't see it, Dean lifted an eyebrow for effect as he frowned up at the ceiling. If Sammy thought he was going to get away with this, he had another think coming. A strong one. And it was possible that it would come accompanied by a firm smack upside the head.

"But, Dean. Come on. We already agreed."

"What's with all this 'we' business? I didn't do anything. This is all you, Sammy. Don't stick me in the middle of things just 'cause you don't know how to hook up with a chick like a normal guy." Dean scowled as he pulled at the collar of his thin grey t-shirt. Shirt on? Shirt off? It was so damn hot. He tried to stretch himself out over the bed in order to avoid pooling the warmth of his own body. God, he hated this sticky, inescapable heat, and he hated Sam's idea. Wait, no - strike that. He didn't mind humid summer weather if it invovled scantily dressed girls, as long as he could observe from somewhere air-conditioned. He still hated Sam's plan, though. No exceptions.

Sam rolled his eyes as he yawned. "I wasn't trying to hook up with her, Dean. I was just trying to help her out."

"Help her out?" Dean snorted. "What, the fact that we cleared her house of that obnoxious poltergeist wasn't enough? Christ, people are so demanding." He shoved all the blankets on his bed onto the floor.

Sam knew the heat making Dean cranky, so he tried to sound as soothing as possible. "Please? She'll be disappointed if we let her down." Sam rolled back over and turned on the lamp between the two beds. This would probably be easier if he could actually see his brother.

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I...dude, what the hell? Don't look at me like that." Dean glared at his brother as he squinted, trying to adjust his vision against the sudden glare of light. "And turn that back off. It's already fucking hotter than the devil's balls in here."

Sam sighed as he put the light out again. Okay, so the wide-eyed, earnest look wasn't going to go over either. "Come on, Dean. Please? We really need the money."

"Then I'll make some. My way. Easy."

"What, are you going to go sit in at the local senior's Bingo night? Or hold some little school kids upside down and shake out their lunch money?"

"Well, it'd sure as hell beat what you've got planned for me, you slick bastard," Dean shot back.

"Dean!" Sam wasn't really shocked, but still. Someone had to keep his brother in line.

"What?" Of course, the older Winchester was completely unrepentant.

"Anyway, have you seen where we are? There are no seedy biker bars, no pool halls, not even a bowling alley. This town is hustle-proof."

"Are you kidding me? That doesn't make this town hustle-proof, it just makes you an amateur. Man, why're you twisting my arm with this? Why don't you just do it? You're the one that has the hots for this chick." Dean was done discussing this matter five minutes ago. He was grumpy, he was sore from being tossed around like a frisbee by the aforementioned poltergeist and he was sleepy. On top of it all, he was sweaty and uncomfortable because the air-conditioning unit in this room was a piece of shit. He was so asking for his money back in the morning. Dean tossed himself into a different spot on the bed in hopes that the sheets would be cooler.

"Okay, first of all, I do _not _have the hots for her, so stop saying I do. Secondly, I can't because the costume won't fit me."

"Yeah, I'll bet." _Ah, fuck it,_ Dean thought. _Shirt off it is. _The grey t-shirt went flying and landed on his little brother's face.

"What the - " Sam sputtered. He wadded up the shirt and half-heartedly threw it back only to have the unwanted piece of cloth land on the carpet between the beds. "She just needs someone to fill in for a couple days, Dean. Just until her regular is back on his feet. It won't be that bad."

"I'm sorry, are we talking about the same job here? 'Won't be that bad', my ass. What the hell happened to her regular anyway? He grow a pair and decide to run away?"

"Oh, um, I'm not sure. I think he's sick or something."

"What, did he poison himself? Smart move."

"Dean..." An exasperated note entered Sam's voice.

"What, like you wouldn't?" Dean asked defensively. "And why can't she just find some other townie to fill in? Why'd you have to go and drag me into this?" Dean punched his pillow in frustration. The more he fidgeted, the further he overheated. The hotter he got, the more restless he became. It was a vicious cycle.

"Because. She's gonna pay us really well, Dean." If nothing else, Sam knew his brother appreciated the value of 'hard-earned' money.

"Okay, just so we're clear, there is no amount of money she could shell out to make up for the humiliation of pretending to be a damn hot dog. She could toss in a one-night stand and it still wouldn't be enough."

"Not even if the money will pay for the gas we'll need to drive out of here?"

"That's what credit card fraud was invented for, Sammy." Dean's smug voice floated over to him in the darkness and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I thought we agreed that we were only going to use those for emergencies."

"I'd say the fact that I'm about to be forced into dressing up like a giant wiener-stuffed bun qualifies as an emergency, wouldn't you?"

Sam had to suppress a chuckle at the mental image. "Um, no, not exactly. Besides, our last one got rejected."

"It what? Oh...right. Well, shit."

Sam could hear the defeat in his brother's voice and silently laughed. He'd have to make sure to take as many pictures as possible - one never knew when an opportunity for blackmail would arise. "Yeah."

"Sammy?"

"What?"

"You're a bitch, you know that?"

Sam spread his arms across his mattress. He could hear the other bed squeak in protest as his brother futilely continued to toss and turn. "Yeah, whatever. Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Damn it, Sammy. How the hell do you get me into these things?"

"Because I can."

"Wrong answer, smart-ass."

"Oh." Sam cleared his throat. "Um, what I meant was that I'm just watching out for us. You know, keeping us solvent and all."

"I'm so gonna to get you back for this."

"Yeah, I know."

"And it's gonna be good."

"Okay."

"You're never gonna see it coming."

"Alright, alright. I get the point, Oscar Mayer."

"And if you ever tell anyone about this - if you even _think_ about telling someone, you're a dead man, Sammy."

"Whatever you say, man. I'm going to sleep."

"And Sammy?"

"What, Dean?"

"You throw like a girl."


End file.
